Chapter 8
Isabel
Waking up draped across him feels… strange. But also safe. Like my body knows something my mind is still trying to figure out.
Is this what being a couple feels like?
His chest rises beneath my cheek in slow, steady breaths, and I match them without realizing it. I’ve never woken up like this—held, wanted, cherished. The men I’ve been with before? They never lingered. I never wanted them to.
But with Nate… I want.
Last night was more than a kiss. It was a shift. A collapse of every wall I spent years building. And when he looked at me, like I was the only thing tethering him to this world, something inside me cracked open.
He stirs beneath me, and I instinctively hold tighter. My leg’s tangled with his, my arm spread over his chest like I belong there. Like this is where I’m meant to be.
God, the feelings I had on that plane? They were nothing compared to this storm inside me now. And the taste I got of him last night? It only lit the fuse.
I shift slightly, and my fingers accidentally brush over something very hard. My cheeks flush as I realize what I’ve just touched—grabbed—and panic bolts through me.
“Oh shit. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” I blurt, scrambling out of bed like it’s on fire and rushing into the bathroom, heart pounding in my ears.
Mortified doesn’t even begin to cover it.
I jump into the shower, crank the water, and hope it can wash away the embarrassment. But I can still feel his heat on my skin, the way his body molded to mine.
Then his voice—soft, teasing—breaks through the steam. “Izzy… is everything okay?”
God. He followed me.
I don’t respond. I can’t.
Seconds later, the door slides open and I feel him step in behind me, warmth radiating off his skin even through the cold spray.
“I didn’t mean to,” I whisper, facing the tiles.
He wraps his arms around me, gently but with intent. “Hey, baby. It’s all right. I didn’t mind at all.”
Then his lips brush my neck, and I melt.
“Izzy…” I try to stay grounded, but the way he says my name—like it’s sacred—pulls the breath from my lungs.
When our eyes meet, everything else falls away. Logic, fear, promises to take things slow—gone.
He turns me to face him, lifts me with ease, and presses me against the slick tiles. His mouth is everywhere—urgent, worshipping—and I give in completely.
The water chills, but my skin burns under his touch.
When he turns me again, pressing me back against his chest, I arch into him as his hands explore every inch of me. The contrast of his touch—rough and reverent—makes my head spin. I gasp when his fingers circle my clit, and the moment he slides inside me, my world narrows to nothing but him.
I come apart in his arms, screaming his name, steadying myself with one hand on the foggy glass while the other guides his movements deeper, harder. I feel him throb against me, and I swear I’ve never felt so alive. So wanted.
He kisses me again, long and lingering, and murmurs one word that sends a jolt through my soul.
“Mine.”
And with everything I have left, I breathe, “Yours.”
Wrapped in a towel, I try to steady my heart and leave him to shower.
I’m running away because I have no idea on how to handle all of this.
I dreamed all my life of my Prince Charming, but not even in my wildest fantasies did I imagine was Nate.
My dream guy used to ride in on a white horse—perfect, polished, predictable.
Nate is none of that. He’s a storm wrapped in warmth, a wildfire I’m desperate to touch.
When I'm with him, I don't just feel special—I feel seen, chosen… real.
He made me feel loved—not the fairy-tale version, but the kind that sinks deep into your skin and makes you crave more. And still, I know it's just my stupid heart playing tricks. This can’t be real. No man like him chooses someone like me—not for long, anyway.
Still… the shower. God.
Charlie—my battery-powered buddy—has always done a decent job keeping me sane.
But Nate? One touch and my knees nearly buckled.
His fingers played my body like he knew every hidden note, and when I shattered for him, it felt like my soul left my body just to kiss the stars.
He held back, though. I felt it. The way he controlled himself…
like he was scared of what might happen if he let go.
But why? Why pull away when it felt so right?
When I went back into the bathroom to bring him a towel, I told myself not to look. But of course, I did.
I couldn't not.
He was facing the wall, water cascading over those perfect muscles, and yet all I could focus on was him.
His pleasure. The raw, unfiltered way he gave in to the need I’d put in him.
His back was arched, muscles taut, hand wrapped tight around his cock.
The way his breath caught, the guttural sound he made when he was almost there…
I’ll never forget it. I burned it into my memory like a secret I’ll keep forever.
It was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen—and it made my thighs clench with need.
I almost walked in, dropped the towel, and asked him to let me finish what we started. I wanted to touch him, taste him, claim him the way he touched and claimed me. But I froze.
I chickened out.
Instead, I turned on my heel, walked into the bedroom like I wasn’t melting from the inside out, and wore something comfy.
But my mind? Still in that damn shower.
Still imagining what it would feel like to fall apart on his tongue.
Still craving the moment he stops holding back… and finally, finally takes all of me.
I make my way to the kitchen, legs still trembling with the ghost of his touch. My body is buzzing, my mind spinning, but I try to anchor myself in the mundane. Coffee. Mugs. A familiar routine that doesn't feel so overwhelming, unlike the man still burning in my veins.
I focus on the clink of the spoon against the ceramic, the hum of the kettle, anything to keep me from replaying the image of him lost in pleasure in that shower.
Then I feel him behind me.
Quiet. Hesitant.
Like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to step into this part of my world.
Does he regret what happened?
Do I?
“I made coffee,” I murmur without turning around, keeping my voice even. “I found these coffee capsules but we have nothing for breakfast.”
“Izzy?”
Just one word. My name. But the way he says it? Like it’s a vow. Like he’s stitching me back together with every syllable.
I turn, and he’s standing there—barefoot, trousers slung low on his hips, damp curls falling into his eyes. He’s a mess of heat and tenderness, and when he opens his arms, I hesitate for half a second before I melt into him.
His chest is warm and solid, and I bury my face against it, inhaling him—clean soap, faint musk, something entirely Nate. My arms wrap around his waist like they belong there. Like I’ve been waiting for this moment for years without even realizing it.
“We’re not kids anymore,” he says softly, his thumb brushing against my jaw. “But you’ve always belonged here.”
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. My heart’s racing like it wants to burst free and crash into his.
He leans back just enough to look into my eyes, a smile playing on his lips. “How about we go shopping? We need food, some clothes… and after that, whatever you want.”
I should say something normal. I should joke, or deflect, or pretend like I’m not completely unraveling in his arms.
But instead, my mouth betrays my heart. “Let’s do it”
“Okay, coffee first, then we will call a ride.”
“I didn’t mean the shopping,” I say quietly. “Let’s get married.”
His brows shoot up, and for a moment, he just stares at me, like he’s making sure he heard right.
“Are you sure?”
I nod, a soft smile tugging at my lips. “You already know me. You know all the broken, complicated pieces. At least this way… I won’t feel judged. It’s not perfect, but… what could go wrong?”
He huffs a laugh, that familiar cocky smirk curling his lips. Maybe it’s insane. Maybe we’re playing with fire.
But in this moment, wrapped in his arms, all I can think is—
Let it burn.
* * *
After what feels like buying groceries and enough clothes to last a lifetime we haul the bags to the car, our arms overloaded with everything from lingerie to sweatpants.
He pops the trunk and tosses in the bags like it’s nothing. I’m not sure of Weister’s influence here but it took Nate a phone call and a car was delivered to the cabin. Our ride, as he called it. He grabs my hand again with that mischievous grin that always gets me into trouble.
“Come on,” he tugs me toward downtown. “We’re not done yet.”
“Nate,” I laugh breathlessly, “we’ve already raided half the stores in town. What more could we possibly need?”
He doesn't answer. Just winks and keeps dragging me along like a man on a mission.
As we move through the crowd, I catch the glances. The stares. Women turning their heads. Smiling. Whispering.
Of course they notice him. He’s tall, striking, with that careless confidence and dangerous smile. He’s beautiful and powerful and completely out of my league.
Jealousy prickles low in my stomach, unexpected and unwelcome.
I slip my arm around his like I’m claiming territory, like maybe they’ll see I’m not just a temporary guest in his world.
But when I shift away a few moments later, trying to play it cool, he doesn’t let me go.
His arm snakes around my shoulders, pulling me tight against his side.
Like he’s the one needing to stake a claim.
“Come with me,” he murmurs close to my ear, sending shivers down my spine.
We turn the corner and stop in front of a jewelry shop, its window glittering with displays of diamonds and sapphires. My heart stutters.
“Nate…”
But he’s already pulling me inside.
The shop is all crystal light and quiet elegance. A woman in a black suit greets us, but Nate’s eyes are already locked on a ring nestled beneath the glass.
“I want that one,” he points at a delicate band crowned by a luminous blue diamond, the color of summer skies right before dusk.
“It’s a rare piece,” the jeweler informs us, gently lifting it from the case. “Blue diamonds are highly sought after and incredibly rare and expensive.”
“Perfect,” Nate takes out his Amex Black Card, without even looking at her. “My fiancée is my blue diamond.”
He takes my hand before I can blink and slides the ring onto my finger like he’s done it a thousand times in his head. My heart forgets how to function.
Not because of the ring—though it’s breathtaking, expensive beyond reason—but because of the way he looks at me. Like I’m something fragile and precious. Like this whole crazy idea means something real to him.
His gaze softens, and he smiles with that little tilt of his mouth that always undoes me. It’s not cocky this time—it’s reverent.
My throat tightens, and without thinking, I reach up to touch his cheek. His eyes flutter closed for a second, then he turns his face and presses a kiss to my palm. A slow, tender brush of lips that makes my knees weak.
He pays, signing the bill without even flinching. As we step back onto the sidewalk, I tug at his jacket to stop him.
“Nate,” I whisper. “You shouldn’t have.”
He bends toward me, eyes searching mine. “I’d never put the family ring on your finger,” he says gently, “and not because you don’t deserve it—but because I hate that stupid tradition. You’re not part of their world. You’re mine. You’re so much more precious than any heirloom.”
Then he kisses me, soft and sure. And just like that, my chest locks up.